“Trying to push you away.”
“Wouldn’t you say you succeeded in pushing me away?” He raises an eyebrow, eyes boring into mine. Heat pricks my skin.
“I mean . . . you don’t have to sit so close to me.”
“You’re in my seat. This is the next best thing.”
“There’s only been one class so far. How is this your seat?”
“Because I always sit in the back left of the class. You’d know that if you paid attention to your surroundings more often.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I frown. “I’ve never had a class with you.”
“Never?”
“Not since freshman year.” I swallow.
“And you dropped it, didn’t you?” He tilts his head slightly, examining my expression.
“I don’t see why that’s any of your business.” I lower my foot, straighten in my chair, and look at the front of the room.
“Why are you in this class, anyway?”
“Because I have no choice. Why are you here?”
“Same reason. Your mom told me this is the easiest A, so here I am.”
“Hm.” I scowl. My mother is a traitor.
“You still studying, what was it, nursing?”
“Public health.”
“Public health?” His brows raise. “What are you going to do with that?”
“I can do different things, but I’m looking into becoming a PA.”
“PA?” Jagger nods slowly. “I would’ve bet money on your becoming a doctor.”
“Because of my dad?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He chuckles, stretching his legs. I inhale sharply, moving mine quickly so his don’t touch mine. “I’m still political science. Thinking about law school.”
“Law school?” I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t you have like every scout in the country looking at you?”
“Yeah.” His lips flatten and I can tell I hit a sore subject, though I can’t imagine why. He’s destined to play in the NFL. At least, that’s what I’ve always assumed.
“Hm,” is the only comment I make.
“You still playing volleyball?”
“Nope.” I cross my arms. Now it’s my turn to avoid the subject.
“Hm,” he says back and doesn’t comment further, just that grunt of acknowledgement, and I focus on class, rather than him and his long legs, giant frame, and obnoxiously sexy voice.
I pick up my pace as I near the house and furthermore when I see people walking on the sidewalk. I knew this house was coveted, but I didn’t realize by how many until I got the alert that I was next in line for it on a list of 80. It’s a cute little cottage, the kind people dream of settling down in, with an evergreen exterior and white picket fence surrounding it. Settling down is a far cry from what happens here though, and everyone knows it. In the past, it’s been housed by fraternities and sororities alike. Now that Greek life has its own row of houses a block away from here, it’s housed by upperclassmen and women. People like me, who are tired of small beds and noisy hallways and want to live off campus. People like me, with connections to owners of houses like this one. Or rather, my parents are the ones with the connections and I’m the one who reaps the benefits of that. I take the steps two at a time, ignoring everyone in my wake and surroundings.
If I know one thing is not to make eye contact with people you’re passing—in line, in life. It’s the reason I stay to myself mostly. It’s the reason I never joined a sorority, like my best friends did. I do reap the benefits of those connections as well though, and go to the important parties here and there. At least I did, before Lawrence told me it made him jealous and I stopped altogether. Jealous my ass. My throat burns as I think about my cheating ex-boyfriend Lawrence and my ex-friend Crystal. I force myself to shove the emotion away before I start crying. As it is, I’m overdue for a good cry. I’ve been holding all of these emotions in, waiting for the right moment to let them loose, but I’ve been too busy to have a legitimate emotional breakdown.
I reach for the door just as someone else places their hand over mine. The touch makes me jolt and bounce back. I glance up quickly, meeting toffee eyes. His gaze burns into mine, his lips forming a hard line. I swallow, shaking my head because there’s no way, there’s no way, except it would be just my luck.
“What are—” My question is cut off by the door opening beside us. Neither of us look away from each other, unable to break this godforsaken spell that seems to always take hold when we’re near each other.
“Miss Canó? Did I say that correctly?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I blink away first, looking at the woman holding the door open.
“Mr. Cruz?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My pulse quickens. That voice, Jesus Christ, so deep and rich and punchable.
“Come in, please.” She steps aside and I walk inside first. “I’m Lauren. My siblings and I own this house, but I’m the closest, so I’ll be the one dropping in to check on it occasionally. We didn’t used to do this, but after the incident, well, let’s just say not checking in would be catastrophic.”